by Terry Tyler
"But you still believe in Thor?" asked Dave. He felt the fear in his gut, for just a moment. Did not making it through to some tin pot satellite TV talent competition mean they were all giving up?
"Course I do, man," said Boz, patting him on the back. "It's a canny band you've got, and it's a good laugh. But I'm not sure we're ever going to get further than we are now."
"We just need some better gigs," said Dave, hearing and hating the desperation in his voice.
"Yeah, we do," said Ritchie. "Weren't we going to try and get some in London, before we started on all this Raw Talent shite?"
"Mm," Boz said, and frowned. "I'll look into things, over the next week or so."
He sounded distracted, like Ariel had. Dave had a feeling that Boz had something else up his sleeve that he wasn't telling them about, too.
Ariel, Janice, Shane - they'd all presented him with surprises, lately, and not very nice ones, at that.
He hoped Boz wasn't about to follow suit.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The Parting Of Ways
She was really going.
Their last week together was a huge emotional struggle for Dave, though he knew it was less so for her; she was busy, doing her final shifts in the pub, catching up with friends for the last time, making arrangements, going out to dinner with her father.
On the day before she left they lounged in the bath together at Ritchie's; she was sitting between his legs with her back against his chest, his arms around her waist, and he thought for an odd moment about a documentary he'd seen, about a serial killer who'd killed his victims and kept their corpses in his apartment so he wouldn't be alone. I could drown her in five seconds, easily, he thought. Fuck! I'm going nuts. Why am I thinking about that sort of creepy weird shit?
He picked up his sponge and squeezed the hot water onto her, and she went "Mmm!" and wriggled closer to him. He held her tighter to him, his cheek pressed against the top of her wet head, and tried not to cry.
"Shall I come down to see you? In London, I mean. Before you actually go."
"That'd be nice," she said, "but you're at work all week, and I'll be working evenings and weekends up until I go. I don't think it's very practical. We wouldn't actually get to see each other."
"No." He felt a rush of anger. "Do you actually care? This is déjà fucking vu, isn't it, really? You saying you love me and me hanging on, but you going off to London without me just the same." He wouldn't mind if she was at work. He'd be happy to wait for her, in this Emily's flat, until she came home, just to spend a few hours with her.
She pulled away from him and sat up, then stood up and got out of the bath, in one graceful move. Shit, what have I done now? he thought. He hadn't wanted to argue, not during their few last times together.
She knelt on the floor next to the bath, resting her arms on the side of it, reached up and kissed him, then stroked the side of his face.
"I'm not going because I want to leave you. I'm going because this is something I really, really want to do. The two things aren't related. What do you want me to do? Stick around here working in the pub for minimum wage and eventually provide a half-brother for Harley? After which we'll get a council house because you have to hand over so much money to Janice every week that we won't be able to afford to buy or even rent anywhere decent - I mean, it's right and proper that you support Janice and Harley, but it's still a fact of life. Then one day I'll say to one of the mums in the mother and toddler group, yeah, I used to sing a bit. Is that what you want, Dave? Because it's what will probably happen if I stay here."
"We wouldn't be like that. I don't want any more kids, anyway."
"You would. You'd want one with me, if we were together. I know you would. Because you'd think it would bind me to you."
She knew. How did she know? He smiled."I wouldn't. I know you don't really want children, either." He bent his knees up and rested his arms on them.
"I might, one day. But not for years and years." She shivered, reached for a huge towel and wrapped herself in it. She looked so sweet, Dave thought. Anyone who made the mistake of thinking that Ariel was 'sweet' had got it so wrong, though, hadn't they?
"You can't leave here because of Harley, end of. I'd think a hell of a lot less of you if you were prepared to do so. Look, this is just something I'm doing right now. In between cruises it's possible I'll come back to stay with Dad for a bit - Emily says I can stay with her now, but things might change for her, too - she might meet someone, get married and move to the Outer Hebrides, anything. We might end up together in five or ten years' time, you and I, for all we know."
"Do you think so?"
She flipped his nose with the corner of the towel. "Well, look at us now! These past few months have been great. It's still there, between us. In spades, isn't it? It's better now than when we were kids, if anything."
He stood up, showering her with water droplets, and she laughed.
"You look like a Viking!" she said.
"That's because I am one," he said. He got out of the bath, sat down on the bathmat beside her and held her close to him. "Have you got to be anywhere else today?"
"No. Today's just for you and me. And tonight."
Later that night, as she slept, he mulled over what she had said. Yes, he knew she loved him, in her way. He knew he was important to her - but Ariel had dreams, and a big vision; she would continue to have a varied and interesting life, going to all sorts of places, meeting hundreds of people, having experiences he'd never have. He believed it was possible, yes, that they might end up together one day, when she'd done all she had to do, and he believed that she thought it might happen, too, but he couldn't put his life on hold, waiting for it to do so. You couldn't waste your life, waiting. For a moment he thought of his father, who'd taken his chance and gone off to live with the woman he said was the love of his life (though how the love of anyone's life could be called Eunice he didn't know), and he thought of Jan's grandmother, Evelyn, and how her three score and ten were all over, really; he only had just over half of his left now, too. He had a son, and he had a band. Which was a lot more than many people had.
He knew, though, that it was easy to be sensible and strong about it all while Ariel was lying there in his arms; when she was gone, he was going to go to pieces.
Then the next day she left, promising to email, phone and text regularly. He stood and watched the train disappear around the corner, and then he went home.
Melodie Joy (she'd dropped the 'Valentine') survived the first three public votes on Raw Talent.
The show had started to gain a bit of interest in the media; the ratings were picking up, and there was talk of Inspire TV one day becoming as popular as the Living channel.
Thor played another gig, the weekend after Ariel left, at a larger, student type pub in Norwich, which went down very well; the next day there were over twenty new fans on the MySpace page. Dave wrote a new song about the loneliness a Viking warrior sometimes felt, sitting beside a camp fire on a distant shore - it was, he argued fiercely with Ritchie when he played it to him in the flat that night, absolutely nothing like Whitesnake's 'Here I go again'.
(On my own).
He was excited about band practice that week, where he would introduce the song to Shane and Boz, too, and they could start making it all come together.
That was what it was all about, wasn't it?
Thank God for his music - it gave him something on which to focus, an outlet for the pain he felt. Thor was still alive and kicking! It would take more than losing a place on Raw Talent to keep them down. Anyway, TV talent shows were hardly rock and roll, were they? Now that rubbish was over, they could get back to working on new material, seeking out bigger and better venues for gigs.
He strode into The Bandstand for band practice that evening feeling better than he had done for about two weeks, determined to battle through; yes, the wrench of Ariel's departure was still at the forefront of his mind, but he would struggle on. Surely
they were destined to be together again, some time in the future? He'd lost her once before, and still lived to fight another day. The Vikings had survived for hundreds of years, through defeat and massacre, death and disaster, hadn't they? No, Dave Bentley wasn't ready for his trip to Valhalla, not just yet!
He was early; he stopped and had a pint and a chat to Shane's uncle Vic, who'd recently found out about Shane's forthcoming foray into fatherhood.
"Might make the lad buckle down a bit," he said. "Mind you, that Kerry's not a lovely girl like your Janice. She's a bit of a tartar, if you ask me; Shane seems to get wall to wall earache, poor fella!"
Then Ritchie turned up, looking marginally more unhappy than usual. He accepted the pint Dave bought him, then put his hand on his shoulder and suggested they go into the practice room.
"Got something to tell you, mate," he said, but he refused to say anything until they were both sitting on the stage, pints in hand.
Dave's tenuous feeling of optimism was dissipating by the moment.
"Okay, spit it out," he said.
Ritchie took a deep breath. "Shane's pissed off," he said.
Dave gave a sigh of relief. "Yeah, we all know that. Wouldn't you be, if you were going to be tied to that Kerry for the rest of your life?"
"No," said Ritchie. "I mean, he's pissed off. Gone. He rang me an hour or so ago. Didn't dare tell you himself."
"What?" Dave felt as though he'd been kicked in the guts - just like when he found out that Ariel was going. "The fuck? Where? Why? When's he coming back? What the fuck's going on?"
"He ain't coming back, mate," said Ritchie, and Dave could have sworn he saw tears in his eyes. "Not in the foreseeable future, anyway. I know, I'm gutted, too. Should have seen this one coming, really." Ritchie took a long draught of his beer and suggested that they should go outside, in case Dave wanted to smoke. "You'll probably need to," he said, ominously.
Outside an icy rain had started to come down, sharp needles making their way into the smoking shelter. Dave put up the collar of his leather jacket, and lit a cigarette.
"Let's have it, then," he said. "Where's the twat buggered off to?"
Shane had gone to live in Spalding in Lincolnshire, Ritchie told him. The move had been on the cards for a few weeks; it had been instigated by the Bon Jovi girl he'd met at Raw Talent, Cecilia, with the brother in the Bon Jovi tribute band. Yes, Shane had been offered the role of lead guitarist in this band; he'd been up to see this Cecilia a couple of times, unbeknownst to anyone else, and had now upped sticks, left his latest factory job, and moved in with her.
"He organised the move and everything, all in secret," Ritchie said. "Cecilia's brother, he came to collect him in his van last night, with all his stuff. He gave notice on his flat, even, so he's definitely not coming back."
"I get it now," Dave said. "It was all he ever really wanted to do, wasn't it? Play 'Livin' on a Prayer' and shirk all his fucking responsibilities to everyone. But why couldn't he have told me? I mean, fucking hell, we've been mates since we were kids!"
"He couldn't face it," said Ritchie. "He knows how much Thor means to you. And he arranged it all on the quiet because - okay, look, he's abandoned that Kerry. Made me swear secrecy, 'cause he don't want nothing to do with any of it. Between you and me, he sounded a bit, well, on edge. Almost scared. Kept saying over and over that I mustn't tell anyone where he is. Not even his family know - he's going to tell them later. It's just you and me. He couldn't tell you 'cause he, like, he knows what you're like with Harley, and he thought you'd have a real go at him - he knows what Ariel thinks of the way he carries on, too, and he thought that if you two knew you'd be bound to tell Kerry."
Dave felt a stab of pain. "Ariel wouldn't have said anything. She's gone, remember?" He stared up at the sky. "Fucking hell. I've lost my girlfriend and my best mate, all in one go, practically."
Ritchie patted him on the back. "Yeah, I know, mate, I know." He exhaled loudly. "I can see why he did it. I mean, new bird, a flat ready and waiting for him to move into, a band to play in, a way out of his predicament - you can't blame him, really."
"I can," said Dave. "I should think Kerry can, too, poor kid."
"He feels justified about that," Ritchie said. "Says she told him she was on the pill. I can see his point."
"Yeah. He does pick 'em." Dave took a long drag on his cigarette. "Does she know he's gone, yet?"
"No way! I'm a bit pissed about that one myself, to be truthful. I mean, who's she going to be hassling about that, eh? That's right. Us."
"We'll just have to stay out of it," said Dave. "I mean, the CSA and all that, they'll have to find him, won't they?"
"Yeah. Let them do the work. All we know is that he's in Spalding, after all. We needn't tell her that, though. We don't know anything, right?"
Dave stubbed out his cigarette and stood up. Fuck it. He was so angry with Shane he didn't know whether he wanted to cry or punch him, but he couldn't let this get him down. Okay, so he'd lost his mate and his girl, but he still had his band. He needed Thor for his sanity; he couldn't let this break them up. "We can't let this affect the band," he said. "We can find another guitarist. It's only a minor setback. Maybe Boz will know someone suitable."
Ritchie looked at his watch. "Yeah, he might. He should be here by now. Let's go in and tell him, right?"
Boz was sitting on the stage, waiting for them. He looked up, as they came in.
"Oh great, lads, you're here," he said. He folded his arms. "Er, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I'm afraid I've got a bit of bad news."
Boz was leaving, too.
He, too, had struck lucky at the Raw Talent auditions.
The A&R man's assistant, to whom he'd been talking, knew a member of an old punk band from the early 1980s, Genital Warthog, who'd enjoyed a certain cult status up north at the time, and had recently reunited. The original drummer could no longer wield the sticks due to the chronic arthritis of late middle age, so they were on the look out for someone else; someone a bit younger, with a good reputation and plenty of gigging experience behind them. Their comeback tour was to take place in selected venues in the north, so Boz just couldn't say no, could he? These were paying gigs, in Leeds, Liverpool, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Sunderland - and, best of all, in Newcastle.
"Oh, hell, I'm so sorry," he said, when Dave told him about Shane. "I'm as sick as dog, Dave, man, I really am. Canny timing, eh? I've had a belting time these last few months, lads. But I've got to do this, you get that, don't you? I can't afford not to."
"Yes, of course I do," Dave said. "At least you had the decency to come and tell us about it." He shut his eyes; he felt numb.
"I'd stay and do the gig we've got booked for Saturday week, but I suppose that'll have to be cancelled now, won't it?" Boz said.
"Yeah," said Ritchie. "And the MySpace page. Bollocks. I enjoyed doing that."
"Aye, you still can," said Boz. "The music's still there. People can still go on the page and listen to the sound of Thor!"
"Yeah, but we're a live band," said Ritchie. "They'll lose interest if they can't come and see us, if we're not producing new material." He looked up at the ceiling. "We'll have to say we split up 'cause of musical differences within the band. That's what they say, isn't it?"
"Loosely translated as 'two of us could be arsed to turn up for band practice and two of us couldn't'," said Boz, and laughed; then he stopped, abruptly.
"No, not funny, Boz," said Ritchie.
"It's all over, isn't it?" Dave said, putting his hands in his pockets and staring up at the ceiling, too.
"Not necessarily," said Boz. "You could get another guitarist, another drummer."
"It wouldn't be the same," said Ritchie.
Dave looked at him. There were tears in his eyes; funny, he hadn't thought it meant that much to Ritchie. "We could put the word out. On the MySpace page. You never know."
"Nah," said Ritchie. "It's over. Thor was us, the four of us." He grimaced. "Don't think w
e could get another drummer to wear that helmet, anyway."
"I bloody rue the day I ever heard of that Raw Talent," said Dave. "If we hadn't gone there, you and Shane would still be here." And so would Ariel.
"I'm so sorry, lads, I really am," said Boz, again. He slapped them both on the back. "Come on, let's go and get mortal, eh? I'll get 'em in. Let's drown our sorrows and drink to Thor - and Genital Warthog, right?"
They mooched back into the pub and settled at a table by the door, pints in hand.
"Yeah, Raw Talent certainly changed the lives of all of us, didn't it?" said Dave.
"Right. 'Cept me," said Ritchie. "Nothing ever changes for me."
"Whatever happens," said Boz, "we did those gigs, we produced those songs. The music's still there, even if the band is no more."
"Hmm, I suppose you're right," said Ritchie. He put his head on one side, considering. "Yeah, people didn't stop listening to The Beatles after they split up, did they? And look at Led Zep!"
"That's right!" said Boz. He lifted his glass. "To Thor!"
Dave had never felt less like making a toast. "To Thor!" he said, obligingly.
"To Thor!" said Ritchie.
Just then, the door of the pub banged open; a blast of cold air swept in from the street.
"Oy! You lot!"
Dave, Boz and Ritchie all looked up.
In front of them, hands on hips, stood a red faced, very, very angry Kerry.
"Can one of you three arseholes," she said, "tell me where the fuck Shane Cowley's hiding?"
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Spring Into Summer, 2008
March the twenty-sixth was a big day for Ariel. Not only was it her birthday, but also the first day of proper rehearsals for her new job, via Oceanwide Entertainment.
The day dawned bright, cool and windy, but spring was in the air; she smelt it as she walked down to the tube station, and it made her smile. She liked the spring best of all the seasons; it was her time.
